The Bridge
by fakiagirl
Summary: USUK. Arthur is a poet with too many dreams. Alfred is a university student with too much time to kill. Maybe it's chance they end up together, but it will take more than chance to keep them there.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: _Btw, I honestly think there's just one sunny day in this story. Don't read it if overcast skies make you depressed. (No, I'm not trying to be subtle. I'm serious.)

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><p><em>Chapter 1<em>

Alfred first met him on the bridge. The bridge was an old-fashioned stone one, just wide enough for one car at a time. It arched delicately over the narrow stream, and though there were plastic bottles and trash that lined the muddy banks, the bridge somehow made it all better. It turned the scene into something picturesque. The man with the messy blond hair, though, somehow didn't quite fit with the bridge, so that was why Alfred stopped and asked for his name.

"Arthur," Arthur said. His eyes were very green, though the thin light from the dimming sky made them seem faded. Blond, mussed hair fell across his forehead. He was leaning on the railing of the bridge, and before Alfred had spoken to him he had been looking down into the water. He was holding a pen and a pad of paper, but as Alfred drew nearer he quickly covered them up and put them in his back pocket. At this, Alfred stopped a few paces away and put his hands in his pockets.

"Arthur," Alfred repeated in a thoughtful way. "I'm Alfred," he added, as though it weren't important. He tilted his head to one side and grinned questioningly. "Have I met you before?"

"No."

"Yeah, I thought not." Alfred leaned on the bridge too and looked out at the scene before them.

"Then why did you ask?" Arthur was still looking at him defensively. Clearly he wanted Alfred gone.

"I was just curious about what you were up to, but it seemed rude to ask." Alfred grinned at him.

Arthur frowned. "If you want to know, ask."

"What are you writing?"

"Poetry."

"Oh?" Alfred perked up. "Can I read it?"

Arthur's mouth almost quirked into a smile. "Of course not."

"Aw, why not?"

"It's not finished."

Alfred hooked his feet through the lower railing and hung over the edge. He shook his head in mock-disappointment. "Excuses, excuses."

The smile kept tugging at the corner of Arthur's mouth. "It really isn't finished. And stop hanging off the railing like that."

"Or what, I'll break it? Or fall in?" Alfred grinned over at him and leaned out farther.

"And break your neck." Arthur looked away, but Alfred saw the smile. "Really, why did you stop to talk to me? What are you, a university student? Surely you have partying to be doing."

Alfred took his feet off the railing and leaned on it in a normal manner. "Not tonight. I was on my way to the pub for a beer, actually. You want to come?"

Arthur gave him a look as if he found the suggestion amusing, but he said, "Sure."

Alfred grinned. "Great."

The pub was visible from the bridge. It was an old-fashioned wood building with a little sign out front proclaiming its name. It fit perfectly with the stream and bridge, and there was even a dying willow on the stream's bank nearby. Even from a distance, however, it was obvious that the building was in a state of disrepair. At least inside it was warm, bright, and crowded. The noise of talking and laughter spilled out of the open door as they approached.

"You're right I'm in college, but I'm in my third year," Alfred said.

"Why are you here, then?" Arthur asked. "Semester abroad?"

"Transfer student, actually," Alfred said with a grin. "Here until I graduate."

"That's quite the commitment," Arthur said. Then they were at the door and there was too much chaos and noise for talk.

"Two beers," Alfred called out to the bartender. "Cheapest you've got." Arthur made a bit of a face when the bottle was placed in front of him, but he didn't complain.

They sat at the old oak bar on wooden stools and drank. "You can't be that much older than me," Alfred called above the noise.

"Maybe not, but it's still been a while since I was in university," Arthur returned. "What's in England for you? It's quite a ways from home."

"Wanted something different, I guess," Alfred said. Arthur heard all the subtle differences in his speech that said _American, _the ones that made the accent one he thought he would never be able to completely get used to. He also heard the tone and the lilt to the words that spoke of regret and a reason he wouldn't want to be home.

"I see," said Arthur.

"You know, I'm something of a writer myself." The lights of the room glinted off of Alfred's eyes.

"Oh? What sort?" Arthur asked carelessly. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before: _Oh, I write poetry on the side too. Well, not anymore, but I used to. Want to see some of it?_

"Screenplays."

"Really?" That piqued Arthur's interest. "You want to be in the movie business?"

Alfred grinned. "Kinda. I guess I'm just not one for all the description that goes into books and stuff."

"Are you any good?"

Alfred tilted his head a little as he contemplated the blunt question. "I don't know," he finally said. "I'd like to be."

"Is that what you're studying?" Arthur asked.

"Pretty much."

They lapsed into silence and contemplated their beers. By the time the silence was broken, Arthur was quickly nearing the end of his.

"You know," Alfred said suddenly, "I like you. Do you want to go on a date somewhere sometime?"

Arthur's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He looked at Alfred. "Well, aren't you forward." Alfred just smirked. "Am I that obvious?"

"You're surprised?" Alfred asked curiously.

Arthur shrugged. "I'm used to being flirted with by girls."

"Well, they wouldn't know that it was useless, would they?"

"I suppose not," Arthur replied.

"You don't get hit on by men more frequently?"

"No."

"Huh," Alfred said. He sipped his beer and then raised an eyebrow at Arthur. "Well?"

Arthur contemplated this for a moment. "Sure."

Alfred grinned. "You'll go on a date with me?"

Arthur shrugged. "Why not?"

Alfred drank the last of his beer and set the bottle down with a clink. "Saturday, noon, on the bridge."

"That doesn't sound like much of a date," Arthur said dryly.

"It'll be a surprise," Alfred said with a wink. He stood and stretched. He gave Arthur a last look. "I'd give you my number, but I assume you'd just throw it away."

Arthur shrugged to say, _Maybe, maybe not. _"You have studying to do?"

Alfred grinned. "Pretty much. Catch you around." He clapped Arthur's shoulder as he walked past him and out the door. Arthur waited until Alfred was past him, and then he turned and watched him leave the pub. When he was gone, Arthur turned back to the bar, pulled the pad of paper out of his pocket, and began to write.

* * *

><p>On Saturday, Alfred found Arthur at the bridge in the exact same place he had met him only a few days before. The sun was shining weakly through the clouds, but every now and then it hit the water directly and made it sparkle blindingly. This time, the pad of paper was already in Arthur's pocket by the time Alfred reached him. "Hey," Alfred said. "You ready?"<p>

"As ready as I can be," Arthur replied. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see." Alfred jerked his head to indicate that Arthur should follow him. Alfred walked back across the bridge the way he had come, and Arthur fell into step beside him.

"How did the studying go?" Arthur asked.

Alfred laughed. "Fine. I had a test on Thursday. I aced it."

"What's the laughter for?"

"I didn't study for it."

Arthur gave him an amused, side-long look. "Have you done any studying since I last spoke to you?"

"Eh, debatable." Alfred grinned.

"So you're one of _those _kids," Arthur said, looking out at the sky with a slight smile.

"What does that mean?" Alfred asked.

Arthur seemed to think for a moment. "You either think your classes are too easy and breeze through them, or you simply don't care."

"So which one am I?" Alfred asked with a challengingly-raised eyebrow.

Arthur looked at him for a long moment. He smiled. "A little bit of both." Alfred laughed. "Was I right?" Arthur asked.

"Yup," Alfred said with a flash of white teeth. "Spot on."

"Your parents must be less than pleased that you left them to go across an entire ocean and not even care," Arthur said. He meant it as a jab to rile Alfred up and get him to say _something _revealing, but it had the opposite effect. Alfred's smile disappeared and he grew very quiet. They descended into an awkward silence. They were on a gravel and dirt path now, and the ground was slightly muddy beneath their feet.

"We're here," Alfred finally said. They had come to a stop in front of a small ice cream shop. Alfred's smile still hadn't returned, and he didn't even look at Arthur.

"You don't think it's a little cold for ice cream?" Arthur asked. It was more of a counter, really; there were no seats inside, just a couple of tables under a small awning.

"It's never too cold for ice cream," Alfred said. "Triple scoop: mint chocolate chip, strawberry, and chocolate decadence, please," he said to the vendor.

"Just the chocolate decadence for me, thanks," Arthur said.

They were given their cones. Alfred paid and then they went to sit at one of the cold metal tables. Arthur wrapped his coat more tightly around him as he bit into the ice cream. There was a bit of a chill wind, and the awning was little protection from that.

"So how long have you been writing poetry?" Alfred asked. He was hunched over a little, but otherwise acted as if he wasn't any colder than if it had been a sunny day. He was wearing a jacket, but it was unzipped.

"A long time," Arthur replied. "You?"

"High school. Before that I wanted to be a fireman." Alfred grinned and Arthur cracked a small smile.

"You have a hard time growing up?"

Alfred shrugged. "Maybe. People tell me I do." He licked his ice cream like a child, turning it around in a circle as if it were warm enough for it to melt. Somehow, though, it seemed almost like an act.

Arthur ate his ice cream delicately and looked out into the distance. "You must be terribly bored."

"Why do you say that?" Alfred looked at him with interest.

"School's not challenging enough, and to entertain yourself you ask me out." Arthur shook his head. "Maybe you didn't notice before, but I'm not very interesting."

"I disagree." Alfred was leaning forward and looking at him intently.

Arthur glanced at him side-long. "You only think I'm interesting because you don't know me. I'll save you some time. It's not worth the effort."

Alfred laughed. "I'm always being told I have an attention span of about five seconds. Trust me, though, once something catches my interest for any longer, I'm hooked." He was grinning, and even the grey sky couldn't seem to dull the blue of his eyes. "Trust me, honey, you're stuck with me until you reject me outright."

"Entertain me, then, if I'm stuck with you," Arthur said, and he was only half joking. "Tell me what the American does in his free time, here in this dull little place."

Alfred leaned back and licked his ice cream thoughtfully. "He used to go out drinking a lot, but that got boring. He goes to one party a weekend and has at least one video game marathon a week. He spends most of his time trying to think up ideas for screenplays, but has only ever half finished one." He gave Arthur a lopsided grin. "He's also a hopeless romantic."

Arthur smirked. "I see."

"And what about the beauty with the green eyes, standing so pensively on his bridge?"

Arthur snorted, though he couldn't help but be a little flattered. "Please. When I'm not working, I'm writing."

"Dreaming doesn't make up your living?"

"Of course it doesn't."

Alfred looked sad. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I just wondered–"

"Yes, if you get to be a screenwriter you won't need to write in your free time, and then you'll be better than me. I get it."

Alfred finished off the last of his ice cream in dismal silence. Arthur took his time, but eventually he was done to the last of it. He licked the crumbs of the cone delicately from his fingers. He shivered slightly. Alfred stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. He looked at Arthur in surprise. "Are you cold?"

"Yes."

Alfred shrugged off his jacket and handed it over. "Here."

"Don't be silly," Arthur said, but Alfred didn't take the jacket back. After a moment, Arthur took it. It fit easily over his own coat. It was still warm from Alfred's body heat.

Alfred gestured at the road. "Shall we?"

Arthur nodded shortly. They walked side by side down the narrow street. There was little to see but houses and the occasional shop. Hardly anyone else was outside. Alfred stuffed his hands in his pockets against the chill. He was only wearing a t-shirt under his jacket, which seemed silly almost beyond Arthur's comprehension. Somehow, they ended up walking close enough together that their arms brushed. They walked up one street and then down the next, and they were back at the bridge. Alfred stopped at the foot of it and looked at Arthur.

"Well?" Arthur said impatiently after a moment. "Is that it, then? The date?"

Alfred shrugged. He hadn't smiled once since they had left the ice cream shop. "You didn't seem like you were enjoying it."

Arthur scowled. For some reason, that made him irritated. "Aren't you going to kiss me, then?"

Alfred looked surprised. "Am I?"

"What was the point of this, then?"

"Alright then." Alfred took his hand and pulled him onto the bridge.

"Where are you doing?"

Alfred stopped at the top of the bridge and took Arthur's other hand. He pulled Arthur even with him and looked at him. "Trying to be romantic." He leaned over and kissed Arthur lightly on the lips. Arthur was barely aware it had started before it was over. Alfred held Arthur's hands a moment longer than necessary and looked into his eyes. Arthur looked back, his surprise apparent on his face. Alfred released his hands and the moment was gone.

Arthur looked away. "I suppose you'll be wanting this back." He shrugged off Alfred's jacket and handed it back to him.

Alfred took it and put it on. His eyes lingered. "I wasn't lying about being interested."

Arthur blinked, and before he knew it, Alfred was halfway off the bridge. There was a subtle difference between 'being interested' and 'finding someone interesting,' he knew. It sounded as if Alfred had meant it.

Even so, he honestly believed he'd never see Alfred again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: **Sex.

_Author's note: _Sorry if the change to a M rating is disappointing to anyone, and sorry that it's a bit sudden. I wasn't sure if this story was going to end up being mature or not until I wrote this chapter.

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><p><em>Chapter 2<em>

Four days later, Alfred approached Arthur on the bridge again. Arthur looked up in surprise from his notebook. This time, he didn't put it away.

"Hey," Alfred called, the slight breeze lifting his hair. "Nice day, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that, exactly," Arthur replied. It was warmer than it had been, but the sky threatened rain.

Alfred pulled himself up onto the stone railing and sat down, facing the opposite side of the bridge. He looked down and sideways at Arthur. "You weren't here the last three days."

"I know," Arthur said irritably. "I have work."

Alfred looked at him curiously. "You must have a strange schedule, then. Is it part time?"

Arthur scowled and looked away. He leaned on the railing next to Alfred, neglecting his notebook for the moment. "Yes, but with none of the benefits. I work two jobs. The only reason I'm here at all is that I work night shift on one of them."

Alfred made a noise of sympathy. "Do you ever get any sleep?"

"No," Arthur said sharply. He glanced at Alfred and sighed a little. "Yes, but not much."

"No wonder you always have those bags under your eyes." Alfred reached over and brushed his hair lightly off of his cheek. Arthur flinched. Alfred's mouth tightened, but he pretended not to notice. He removed his hand. "You seem to like this bridge a lot. Does it inspire you?"

Arthur looked out at the stream. "Sometimes. Mostly . . ." He hesitated. "It makes me feel very calm."

"Ah." Alfred looked out at the water as well. "I can see that." There was a moment of silence. "I see you're writing again."

Arthur glanced at his notebook. "Yes."

"What's it about?"

"Things I think are worth writing about."

Alfred laughed. When Arthur looked up at him, he saw that his eyes were very bright. "Okay, obviously you don't want to talk about it. Let's make a deal. Every day I see you that you don't let me read something, I get to ask a question. Okay?"

Arthur gave Alfred a disbelieving look. "Alright. But you've already used your question for today."

"No way! That doesn't count. You have to give me a _real _answer_._"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Fine, but pick a different question."

Alfred bit his lip in thought and swung his legs against the stone. "How about . . . what _kind _of poetry is it? Does it rhyme or is that modern stuff?"

Arthur sighed but decided he might as well go along with it. "I used to be very fond of rhyming. I went through a phase where I wrote only sonnets–"

"Italian or Shakespearean?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow slightly and smirked. "So you do pay some attention in school. Shakespearean, of course. Now, however, I write whatever I feel like."

Alfred opened his mouth to say something else, but it must have been a question because he made a face and closed it. He was quiet for a while, just long enough for Arthur to consider his poem again. He regarded it thoughtfully, and then crossed something out and scribbled a note.

"Can I kiss you again?" Alfred said suddenly.

Arthur gave him a strange look. "You don't need to ask."

"I thought I'd be polite." Alfred looked at him. He jumped down lightly from the railing, leaned over, and kissed Arthur.

It was different than the first one. Alfred's lips were soft, and he kissed Arthur's top lip softly, as if being shy. He moved to Arthur's bottom lip, and then his tongue flickered out and tasted him. Arthur felt a little jolt run through him. He parted his lips, but Alfred didn't take the invitation. Instead, he tilted his head and deepened the kiss. Arthur closed his eyes and let him lose himself in the feeling. He flicked his own tongue out and Alfred let him in. Arthur put a hand on the back of Alfred's head and pulled him closer.

They parted, their lips flushed and their breath coming slightly too fast. Alfred licked his lips as if it were a habit. Arthur smiled a little. Alfred, however, continued to stare at him as if he couldn't look away. "You have very pretty eyes," Alfred said after a moment. "You should write a poem about them." Arthur blinked, but before he could think of a single thing to say, Alfred had moved away from him. They stood for a moment in silence, Arthur looking at Alfred and Alfred looking at the sky. "I should be going. I just wanted to stop by. I have class soon."

"Alright." Arthur looked back at his notebook and busily turned the page as if he hadn't been affected by what had just happened at all. He could still feel his pulse beating heavily in his neck, and the heat in his chest wouldn't seem to go away. His skin felt too tight. It was an effort to keep his eyes from Alfred.

"Bye, then." Alfred touched his shoulder and walked away. "Will you be here tomorrow?" he called from the edge of the bridge.

Arthur looked up. "Wednesday, Thursdays, and Saturdays," he called back.

Alfred grinned. "Great. See you then."

* * *

><p>The next day, it was raining lightly. The rain made a soft, steady noise on the stone. On the bridge without an umbrella, Arthur was waiting for him.<p>

Alfred opened his mouth to greet him, but Arthur cut him off. "Don't say anything. I want to show you something."

Alfred closed his mouth and then opened it again. Arthur was glaring at him determinedly in his grey trench coat. "Why can't I talk?" Alfred finally asked. He couldn't help the grin that spread across his face.

"Because then I might lose my nerve." Arthur turned and walked purposefully off the bridge in the direction of the pub.

Alfred jogged to catch up with him. He obligingly kept his mouth shut until they reached the end of the bridge and Arthur immediately turned to the right and off the path. "Where are we going?"

"Shush," Arthur said, and kept walking. They reached the bank of the stream and Arthur made a sharp right. He went under the bridge, ducking to avoid hitting his head. After a moment, Alfred followed him.

There was a bit of sloping cement at the base of the bridge that led down to the water. It was the only modern thing about the bridge, and seemed to have been an attempt to secure the base of the bridge before the eroding bank caused it to collapse completely. It was dry. Arthur sat down, pulled his knees to his chest, and looked at the water.

Alfred sat down next to him. He looked around curiously. There were no signs of regular human activity except that the area was much cleaner and free of trash than the surrounding banks. The patter of the rain was soft on the bridge above their heads, and it made a sharper noise as it hit the water. It was relaxing. "This is what you wanted to show me?"

"Maybe," Arthur said shortly.

"Maybe?"

"I haven't decided yet."

Alfred leaned back on one hand and looked at Arthur curiously. "What's your decision resting on?"

Arthur didn't answer. With the turn of his head, his dusky green eyes caught a stray bit of light and held it there. He looked at Alfred for a moment with an unreadable expression. "I'll let you read one of my poems if you promise not to say anything about it," he finally said. His voice was harsh. "It's not completely finished, but it's the best I can do for now."

Alfred's eyes lit up. "Really? I promise."

Arthur pulled out his notebook and flipped through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. He held it out and Alfred took it eagerly. His eyes darted over the words. His face, which had been so bright, grew solemn. He went back to the beginning and read it again, slowly. He handed it back to Arthur without a word. Their fingers brushed and a little jolt went through Arthur. There was something strange and unreadable in Alfred's eyes, and somehow that terrified him. They sat there in a moment of silence. "Okay, fine," Arthur said, because not knowing what Alfred was thinking was killing him. "You can say one thing about it."

"It's about the bridge."

"Yes. I thought you would like that. It's also written in the English language and it rhymes," Arthur pointed out sarcastically.

"It was so sad." Alfred had put his hands on his knees and was sitting perfectly still. That was the thing about Alfred: he was always moving, even if it was just a little twirling of his fingers or him gnawing absently on his lip. This stillness, broken only by the occasional blink of an eye, was unsettling.

"Well, I'm sorry," Arthur snapped in frustration – and, though he could hardly admit it to himself, fear. "I just showed it to you because you said you wanted to see it." He took the notebook out of Alfred's barely resisting hands and stuffed it back in his coat pocket.

"No, that wasn't what I meant," Alfred said, and he finally seemed to come back to life. He leaned forward, bracing himself in on hand. "I just didn't know you thought about the bridge that way. I thought it was something you thought was pretty, or a place to relax, or whatever. I thought you sort of . . . didn't care about the trash in the stream and all that stuff. I thought you thought it was beautiful. If I had just been listening to how the words sounded, I would have thought you did. You put it together so carefully, but . . . it was so sad."

The pounding of Arthur's heart subsided. "You didn't hate it, then."

"No. I thought it was wonderful."

Arthur almost accused him of lying, but Alfred looked and sounded far too sincere. There was also still that strange emotion in his eyes. Suddenly, it clicked: Alfred pitied him.

"Well, thank you," Arthur said gruffly. "Now stop looking at me like it was a metaphor for my soul or something. That wasn't why I let you read it."

But Alfred's eyes lingered and they said, _I think it was. _Alfred leaned forward to kiss Arthur again, but strangely, despite his irritation, Arthur had no desire to lean away. He let Alfred capture his lips in that kiss and his eyes closed apparently of their own accord. He reached out a hand and pressed it against Alfred's chest. His shirt was slightly damp from the rain, but it was warm, and Arthur could feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric: _badump-badump-badump. _Alfred deepened the kiss, and there was something hard and desperate in it. His hands grabbed firmly at Arthur's hips and Arthur felt a jolt run through him. Maybe it didn't make sense, and maybe he would regret it later, but he wanted this. Arthur kissed him back open-mouthed and Alfred gasped slightly. Arthur grabbed at whatever he could find – the collar of Alfred's coat, its hem, his belt-buckle. At the pressure of Arthur's hand on his belt, Alfred immediately unbuttoned Arthur's jeans. His hand slipped inside and Arthur accidentally bit Alfred's lip. Arthur pushed him away. "Not here."

"Where, then?" Alfred's eyes were locked on Arthur's.

The passion came in waves. Just when Arthur thought he had it safely under control, he would look too deeply into Alfred's eyes and it would rise up again. Arthur breathed through his mouth, not caring that it looked like he was panting. "My flat's not far."

Alfred kissed him again and then quickly did up his belt buckle. He looked at Arthur with pleading, questioning eyes. "Would you–?"

"Yes."

They walked too quickly over the bridge and down the narrow streets. Arthur's flat was in a rundown neighborhood in a building with a sketchy look to it, but neither of them were complaining. The moment they were through the door, Alfred set his hands on Arthur's hips and kissed him hard. Arthur didn't mind that they were kissing in the landing until Alfred pushed him against the side of the stairs and began kissing the hollow of his throat. "Upstairs," Arthur gasped out. Alfred was only too obliging to take his hand and run up them.

It was a matter of seconds for Arthur to jiggle his key in the lock and push the door open. Alfred was on him again almost immediately. He easily obeyed Arthur's tugs and followed him to the bed, still kissing his jaw. They lost pieces of their clothing haphazardly. Arthur was the first to lose all of it. Alfred immediately began kissing and sucking his way down Arthur's torso, savoring each spot he chose as though worshiping it.

The funny thing about thinking about things in terms of poetry, Arthur had discovered, was that once he had started, he could never really stop. He was always thinking in words and phrases that seemed strangely disconnected, and they flowed into his head without his bidding. As Alfred's lips caressed his skin, he could only think of how Alfred's hands felt firm on his hips, and _fingers that float across the hip bone jutting harshly _and how _the small of his hips feels empty when his breath leaves it. _Then Alfred moved his hands and leaned back. He paused, and Arthur could hear his own heart beating too fast. Alfred leaned forward, kissed the inside of Arthur's thigh, and took Arthur in.

All controlled thought fled from Arthur's mind. Half of his mind was filled with the sensation, hot and wet, and the other half with words – though Arthur had always half wondered if they were the same thing. _Heat like your blood has come alive and left your control– _Arthur couldn't hold back a gasp, and he bucked his hips without meaning to. Alfred took it in stride and began quickly pumping him with one hand, his mouth never leaving the head. When the skin was loose enough, he pulled it down and licked the head in one swift movement. Arthur moaned and immediately bit the inside of his cheek. _Like ocean waves it never ceases _His body was burning and he was tense and very hard. Some part of him briefly surfaced to consciousness and he hated that it was so obvious that it had been so long.

Alfred slowed down, and Arthur wanted to hate him for it. Alfred ran his tongue along the sensitive edge of the head, just before it met the shaft, with an agonizing slowness that made Arthur fist his hands in the sheets. Alfred flicked his tongue across the slit and then became still for a moment, as if considering something. Finally he leaned forward and took Arthur in deeper. Arthur groaned. All too soon, Alfred had released him and had pulled himself back up to Arthur's level.

Arthur breathed out sharply and almost moaned in disappointment. He attempted to glare at Alfred, but he knew it was a very weak attempt. Alfred licked his lips and grinned. He looked _very _proud of himself. Arthur's head felt light and he was surprised that when he spoke it was nearly coherent. "You haven't done anything impressive yet," Arthur growled at him.

"Yeah, we're getting there," Alfred said cheerfully. He pulled a condom out of his back pocket (somehow, he had not yet lost his jeans) and laid it on the pillow. "Got any lube?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed, but he gestured at the drawer of his bedside table. "You just carry condoms around all the time?"

Alfred laughed. "Hey, a guy can hope. I wasn't counting on anything, don't worry. They give 'em out like candy at school." He pulled out the lube and dropped it on the pillow too. He shucked off his jeans and boxer briefs and crawled back onto the bed. He grabbed the lube and began to spread some on two of his fingers. Alfred looked up at Arthur and grinned cheekily. "Old-fashioned way?"

Arthur prodded him with one foot, maybe a little harder than necessary, and tried not think of _his hair as it brushes his cheek like a lover's fingers _and the way Alfred's eyes were too blue for the dullness of Arthur's flat. "Oh, get on with it."

Alfred spread Arthur's legs and teased at the edge of the hole. Arthur hissed in pleasure and looked away. His face was flaming and the rest of him felt tingly and very hot. Alfred slipped one finger inside and Arthur let out a poorly-stifled moan. He was far too tight, but Alfred teased and stretched until he fit a second finger in. He pushed in as deep as he could and scissored his fingers. He hit something and Arthur bucked his hips. He gasped and saw stars. A third finger quickly followed, though it did not fit as easily as the others. When Alfred finally pulled out and Arthur looked at him, he could see that Alfred was panting and flushed as well. He positioned himself above Arthur with shaking arms. Arthur rolled back a little and raised his hips to help him. Alfred very carefully began to ease forward. He pushed part-way inside and gasped.

Arthur nearly did the same. He had tensed, half in anticipation of pleasure and half in pain, but he forced himself to relax. It hurt, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Alfred was nice about it and stopped for a second every time Arthur's breath came in a little too sharply – too nice, and too slow, and Arthur gritted his teeth to keep from complaining (or moaning, he didn't know). Alfred kept pushing until he was up to his hilt, and then he simply stopped and lay down flush with Arthur.

Alfred's breath was hot and fast in his ear. Gradually, Arthur felt himself relaxing and the burning sensation subsiding. Alfred began to rock slowly, back and forth. When he was ready, Arthur pressed his fingers into Alfred's back and pulled his hips down and away from him, ever so slightly. He suddenly canted them upwards in a quick thrust. Alfred moaned, his breath stuttered, and he and began to thrust into Arthur in earnest.

Arthur quickly found that he had little to be embarrassed about, for Alfred neared the edge even faster than he did. Alfred buried his face in Arthur's shoulder, moaning, his back frozen in a rigid arch, and thrusted erratically and too quickly. Arthur winced and gripped Alfred more tightly. He forced Alfred to slow down into something more regular, and soon he was gasping for air as well. Alfred still came first, hot and hard inside of him. Arthur growled disappointedly into his hair and Alfred gave a last few, desperate thrusts. He gripped Arthur and tugged on him too hard and too quickly, but it was enough. Arthur's back arched and he came, biting back moans, into Alfred's hand.

Alfred collapsed on top of him with a heavy sigh, caring little for the mess between them. Arthur still tingled all over. He wanted Alfred to move because he could hardly breath, but he also dreaded the idea of Alfred moving away. It had been so long since he had felt this close to someone. _The tiny spaces where even we cannot press our skin together, the ones that evade us. It is the spaces that tell us how close we are, not the pressure of _

_skin on skin_

Eventually, Alfred pulled out of him and flopped to the side. He was breathing strangely, and when Arthur glanced at him, he saw that Alfred was laughing. Alfred threw an arm across Arthur's waist, nuzzled his neck, and laughed breathlessly into his skin. It was surreal. Arthur couldn't help smiling a little. "Why are you laughing?" Alfred just shook his head, and Arthur knew it was for pure joy.

After a while, Arthur pushed off Alfred's arm and sat up. Alfred made a disappointed noise. "I'm going to go wash off."

Alfred raised his head. "Okay. I'll come with."

Arthur mopped off his chest as best he could with the already soiled sheets. He walked tensely to the small, dingy bathroom, trying not to limp. Alfred followed him closely, and Arthur imagined that he could feel his heat at his back. He turned the water on so hot it left his skin pink and stinging where it hit, but he didn't care. Alfred hugged him from behind. A hand snaked down around his waist and cupped Arthur loosely, protecting him from the spray. Arthur went half-hard despite how sensitive he still was. He bit his lip and closed his eyes. The heat from the water and the heat that gathered under his skin at Alfred's touch – it was almost too much. He felt as though he were going to faint, or melt, or both. Alfred kissed the spot behind his ear. "All clean?" he murmured.

Arthur forced his eyes open. "I suppose." Alfred reached around him and turned the water off. Arthur's breath hitched in his throat as Alfred pressed even closer to him. Then he moved away to dry off.

They got dressed slowly, handing each other pieces of their clothing when they asked for it. "I suppose you have to get back to class," Arthur said as he pulled on his shirt.

"I can stay for a few more minutes." Suddenly Alfred was in front of him. He took Arthur's unresisting hands between his own and kissed Arthur softly. Arthur felt himself leaning into even the quick kiss. "Thanks for letting me read that poem," Alfred said. He was smiling. "I know how personal that stuff can be."

Arthur huffed a little and looked away. "Nonsense."

Alfred grinned. "The lady doth protest too much." He pecked Arthur quickly on the cheek and let go of his hands. "Which is from Hamlet, lest you think I'm uncultured. I'll see you around."

"Yes," Arthur said, and he tried to deny how longingly he looked at Alfred as he pulled on his coat and walked out the door. _When all that needs to be said can be spoken in the space between empty footsteps_

Arthur knew in some part of his mind that this was quickly becoming too personal, but somehow he didn't care.

* * *

><p>A week later, they were at the bridge again. Alfred was leaning on the railing, looking out at the water, while Arthur tapped his pencil idly against the stone in thought. "Alfred," he said suddenly, "Would you like to go to a wedding with me? My friends are getting married, and they've been nagging me to bring someone. Not as a date," he added quickly, "Just so they don't try to set me up with someone."<p>

Alfred grinned at him. "I'd be glad to. When is it?"

"Next Saturday."

"Hmm." Alfred pretended to think about it. "Well, I've got an essay due that Monday, and I should probably do that Bio homework that was due last week, but . . . what the hell, I've still got Sunday, right?" He grinned.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "You have the entire week before then. You have plenty of opportunities to not procrastinate."

"Oh Arthur, what would I do without you?" Alfred teased. He pecked Arthur on the cheek.

Arthur blushed and looked down at his notebook. "They live in Birmingham so they're having the wedding near there. It should take us about an hour an half to get there, so I'll pick you up at about 10. You had better get your hands on a suit before then, because there is no way I'm letting you show up in that nonsense you wear."

Alfred laughed. "I have been to weddings before, you know. I'll give you my address." Before Arthur was aware of what was happening, Alfred had plucked the notebook and pencil out of Arthur's hands and was scribbling something in the margin. He handed the notebook back. "Anything else I should get? Wedding present?"

"No, you're my guest," Arthur said absently. He was memorizing the address. It was a bit of a walk from his place, but not too much of one.

"Well, I look forward to it. I've got–"

"Class, I know, I know. Get along, then." Arthur shooed him away with one hand. "Don't fail any of your classes."

"Wouldn't dream of it." Alfred kissed him quickly and scampered off. Arthur smiled slightly and skimmed the poem Alfred had scribbled next to. It was nearly done. It had taken much longer than he would have liked, but there was no helping that.

He only briefly wondered if perhaps exposing Alfred to his friends was the best idea. He brushed the thought easily away. He was going to find out.


	3. Chapter 3

_Chapter 3_

They met once more a few days before they were to leave. It was a quick visit between Alfred's afternoon classes. Alfred was grinning as usual, but there was something nervous about it. He was holding a sheaf of papers in one hand.

"Good morning," Arthur said pleasantly. He was making progress with the newest of his poems.

"Hey," Alfred said, and then promptly took Arthur's hand and dragged him under the bridge.

"What are we going down here for?" Arthur demanded, though he was more curious than irritated.

"It looks like it might rain," Alfred said.

"It always looks like it might rain."

Alfred chuckled. He ducked under the bridge and sat down, pulling Arthur down next to him. He turned to Arthur and looked at him seriously. "I finally finished one of my screenplays the other night." He took a deep breath and held out the stack of paper. "I know you're busy and stuff, but I'd love it if you'd read it."

Arthur took it curiously. The working title was "Aliens and End of the World, Take 1," which pretty much told him all he needed to know, but he flipped to the first page and started reading. Interestingly enough, the dialogue was quite good, save for some blatant grammatical errors. The opening scene was certainly dramatic and would likely make for a riveting story, if only he had left out that extra expository bit . . . "I'd love to," he said idly.

"You don't have to read it all right now," Alfred said with a blinding grin that betrayed his relief that Arthur hadn't rejected him. "You can give it back to me whenever you're done."

"Hmm," Arthur said, still frowning over the first page. "Would you mind if I made some notes? This bit here . . ." He tapped the line with his finger. "You've misused the semi-colon."

Alfred grinned nervously. "If you want to make corrections, go for it. Just don't be too harsh?" he asked, only half joking.

"Of course." Arthur closed the manuscript. "I should be able to return it to you when I pick you up."

"Thanks!"

Arthur sighed. "I suppose that's all you want to show me."

Alfred smirked and leaned a little closer. "Well . . ." His breath was tantalizingly warm on Arthur's lips. "I'd like to, but sorry, but I've got to run."

"I know." Alfred caught him in a lingering kiss and Arthur relished it. Alfred leapt up and ducked back out from under the bridge. "Don't make us late!" Arthur called after him before Alfred was out of sight. Alfred merely laughed and waved goodbye.

* * *

><p>On Saturday, Arthur showed up at Alfred's address at 9:48 am. The door opened to reveal a grinning Alfred with mussed hair who was wearing a t-shirt and American flag themed boxers. Arthur blanched and nearly didn't come inside. "Haha, sorry, just got out of bed," Alfred said as he let Arthur in. "Make yourself at home. I'll be ready in a few." Alfred disappeared and it wasn't long before Arthur heard the sound of water running. Arthur huffed a little and looked around Alfred's flat. It was extremely messy, though he had expected no different. He found a small clear space on the couch and settled down to wait.<p>

To Alfred's credit, he showered and dressed quickly. He came out of the bathroom with his shirt slightly unbuttoned and his hair newly combed, still damp from the shower. Alfred grinned and Arthur's breath hitched. "Can you help me with my tie? I haven't worn one in forever."

"Of course." Arthur rose smoothly and approached Alfred. Alfred obediently handed him the tie. It was navy blue with tiny white stars, Arthur noted as he tied it. It took him a moment to realize it had probably been chosen because of its resemblance to the American flag. Arthur rolled his eyes. Did Alfred have no sense of style? At least it was subtle, he supposed.

He stepped back and admired his handiwork. Alfred buttoned up his suit jacket and saw Arthur watching. "Like what you see?" he asked with a wink.

"Aren't you in a good mood," Arthur said dryly, but he wasn't able to turn away fast enough to completely hide his smile. "Hurry up or we're going to be late."

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred grabbed his wallet and keys and laced up his shoes.

"Oh, I finished the manuscript, by the way," Arthur said, and picked it up from where he had set it down on the couch. Alfred's eyes lit up. He took it eagerly and began flipping through the pages. "Er, I might have gone a bit overboard," Arthur said lamely. The pages were covered with sticky notes and barely legible things scrawled in the margins. "I thought you could look over it in the car, if you get bored."

"Sure," Alfred said. He was already frowning slightly in concentration as he tried to decipher the first few of Arthur's notes.

"Come on, then," Arthur said impatiently, and ushered Alfred out to the car.

* * *

><p>An hour and a half later, they were nearly at their destination.<p>

"You really think I should make the aliens friendly?" Alfred asked with a slight frown. "That's a pretty big change as far as the story goes . . ."

Arthur sighed exasperatedly. "I'm not saying you _have _to, I'm just saying that if you don't completely destroy the aliens or make peace with them, it's not going to be a very satisfying conclusion."

"But if they only _think _they've destroyed them, it leaves room open for a sequel," Alfred whined.

"Well, you'll just have to think about it later, because we're here." Arthur pulled into a parking space and turned off the car with a sigh. He was only half concentrating on what Alfred was saying; the rest of his attention was elsewhere. He tapped the steering wheel with nervous energy.

Alfred finally closed the manuscript. He looked at Arthur with serious eyes. "What did you think of it as a whole, really?"

"Really?" Arthur took Alfred's hand and gave it a little squeeze. "I thought it was engaging and well-written. I think you have a very good chance of getting it made into a movie."

Alfred relaxed and grinned. "Awesome. You're the best." He leaned over and kissed Arthur lightly.

Arthur blushed a little. "Yes, well, we have other things to focus on now." He licked his thumb and attempted to smooth down the little bit of hair that was sticking up above Alfred's forehead.

"Don't bother," Alfred said. "It never stays down." He caught Arthur's hand in his own and held it there for a moment. Arthur met his eyes. "You don't need to be nervous," Alfred said softly, shocking Arthur with his insight. "You look beautiful, and they're the ones getting married, remember? They'll be too busy being lovebirds to notice if you fall flat on your face."

"Good to know you have faith in me," Arthur said dryly, but he couldn't help feeling a little better. "Let's go, then." They opened their doors and stepped out.

* * *

><p>The wedding was held outside. Arthur had repeatedly lamented this choice since the wedding had been announced, but no one had listened to him. Surprisingly, as the remaining clouds of the morning burned away, the day revealed itself to be sunny and clear. The guests sat in rows of chairs in front of a flower garden. A white carpet led between the chairs to a small raised platform crowned by a white arbor. A climbing honeysuckle turned the arbor into something magical. Arthur insisted on a seat next the aisle. While they waited for the ceremony to start, Alfred looked around curiously.<p>

"Who are these people that are getting married, again?"

"Their names are Elizaveta Héderváry and Roderich Edelstein. She is keeping her name, so please don't call her Mrs. Edelstein if you value your life."

"How did you meet them?"

"I met Elizaveta a few jobs ago and we became friends." Arthur sighed. "I don't know how we've managed to keep in contact."

"How come she wanted you to come with someone so badly?"

Arthur winced. "She's . . . a bit of a matchmaker. She's been trying to set me up on dates for as long as I've known her."

Alfred chuckled. "She's probably going to want to know all about me now that you finally have one."

Arthur stared at him in horror. The thought had not even occurred to him. Just then, the music began warming up. Arthur tensed and sat up straight. "Of course there's a live orchestra," he muttered.

"Why?" Alfred asked too loudly.

"Because Roderich's a musician. Now be _quiet._"

Everyone gradually settled down. The priest took his place. Alfred could see Arthur picking nervously at a stray thread on the cuff of his suit jacket. The groom walked up the aisle. He was dressed so nicely he could have been a prince, and his stately posture and apparent lack of emotion enforced that image. The wedding march began and the bride appeared. Her long, light brown hair was loose except for a bit of it that had been knotted at the top of her head. Her veil was held in place by a crown of flowers. Her matching bouquet was of geranium, tulips, and edelweiss – the Hungarian and Austrian national flowers, Arthur later explained to Alfred. The bride took her place and beamed at her husband-to-be.

The music struck its ending cord. The priest cleared his throat. "We are gathered here today . . ." Alfred immediately tuned him out. He had been to enough weddings (one) to know the drill. Then, however, the priest said something which jolted Alfred back to the ceremony.

"As part of the ceremony, the bride and groom have requested that one of their close friends read a poem he has written for the occasion."

There was polite applause and then silence. Alfred found his eyes drawn to Arthur. Arthur had gone very pale. He stood and began to slowly walk up the aisle. Everyone watched him, and judging from Arthur's tense posture, he knew it. He stepped up onto the platform and took the priest's place slightly behind and between the happy couple. He swallowed and took a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket. He unfolded it and began to read.

Alfred had never heard Arthur read his poetry aloud before. He had not thought that it would make a difference, but it did. Arthur's voice was loud and clear, and he pronounced each word with such preciseness and such careful timing, yet such fluidity, that the poem felt like a song. Alfred was hardly aware of what it was about: love, and seeing such love from the position of an outsider, but knowing that it was true and timeless just the same. When Arthur had finished and finally raised his eyes to the audience, everyone was silent for a moment, as though taking a breath, and then they broke into enthusiastic applause. The bride caught Arthur's eye and murmured something to him. Arthur smiled slightly. Roderich also said something. Arthur nodded and replied, and then returned to his seat.

"Arthur–" Alfred began, but Arthur shook his head.

"Later," he said. His hands were trembling slightly in his lap. Alfred took one and gave it a squeeze. Arthur did not look at him, but he smiled, and he did not let go of Alfred's hand for the rest of the ceremony.

* * *

><p>By the time the reception came around, Arthur had relaxed considerably. However, he did seem to be rather taking advantage of the champagne, and Alfred tried to steer him away from the alcohol and towards the food. After the cake and speeches, the new husband and wife began to make the rounds. Thankfully, they reached Alfred and Arthur before Arthur got too drunk.<p>

"Arthur!" Elizaveta exclaimed and tackled him with a hug. Roderich merely nodded in greeting from behind her. "You look well! And this must be _him._" Her eyes latched onto Alfred with a scary intensity. "You can call me Liz. What's your name? I'm so sorry, but he hasn't told me _anything._"

Alfred laughed easily and took the offered hand. "Sounds like Arthur. I'm Alfred."

"So nice to meet you," she said, her eyes shining. "How did you two meet?"

"By chance," Arthur said in a long-suffering tone.

Liz seemed to be used to such vague answers for she took it in stride. "How long have you been together?"

Alfred and Arthur exchanged a glance. "About a month," Arthur said slowly. Alfred supposed that was about right, so he nodded.

"Well, you have to keep track better than that!" Liz squealed. "Are you doing anything special for your one month-versary?"

The two men looked at her blankly. Roderich sighed from somewhere behind her. "Not everyone cares as much about these thing as you, Elizaveta," he said.

"Nonsense, Roderich," she said with a smile, turning to him. "You're the only one who doesn't care. Stuff like that is super important! They have to do something _romantic_ to confirm their love!"

"Er, I really don't think we need to do anything like that," Arthur said with a raised eyebrow.

Liz huffed. "Maybe you don't _think _you do, but I'm sure Alfred agrees with me, don't you?" She turned to Alfred with a bright smile. He froze.

Roderich decided to intervene. There was a warning in his voice and for some reason his accent had thickened.. "I don't believe he appreciates being singled out in this way."

"Roddy, I'm being _nice._"

"_Elizaveta_," Roderich began, and then said something in a language which sounded very much like German. Before he was finished, Liz responded heatedly in something which was neither German nor English.

Alfred stepped a little closer to Arthur. "Are they–?"

"Speaking in two different languages?" Arthur sighed. "Yes. They always argue like this. Elizaveta is Hungarian and Roderich is Austrian. They're both very proud of their heritage."

The argument increased in volume. Alfred began to nervously inch away from the couple. "Should we–?"

"Get out of here? Quite."

Arthur and Alfred had hardly taken a few steps before the arguing stopped, Liz said, "Oh no you don't," and grabbed hold of Arthur's sleeve. She grinned at them. "I still haven't had a chance to talk to your boyfriend at _all._" She released his sleeve and, before Alfred knew what was happening, had grabbed his hand and was pulling him away from Arthur and her husband. "Come on, let's go somewhere where we can chat in peace, shall we?" Alfred gave Arthur a terrified look. Arthur managed to look nervous and resigned at the same time, but he nodded. With that, Liz whisked Alfred off to another corner of the room. She settled herself on a chair with little regard for her dress and patted the seat next to her. "I want to hear everything."

"Um . . . I'm sure there's much to tell?" he said questioningly, wondering if she was going to start yelling at _him _in Hungarian. However, she seemed perfectly happy.

"How is he? I would ask him, but he'd make something up."

Alfred shrugged and relaxed. "He's fine."

Liz leaned closer, worry showing itself in her eyes. "Is he still writing?"

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, a lot, I think."

She smiled. "Good. So tell me," she said in a secretive tone, "Have you had to deal with his temper? How many fights have you had?"

Alfred chuckled a little. "We haven't fought at all, I think."

Her eyes went wide. "No fights in a _month? _That has to be a new record!"

"Is he really that bad?" Alfred asked curiously.

"He's just very fussy," Liz said with a wave of her had. "He always has been. That fiery temper of his doesn't earn him too many friends, I'll say that."

"How long have you known him?"

"Oh, for_ years_," she said. "We had the same job while he was working his way through university. When he dropped out, we worked the same full-time shift until the company collapsed."

"So he did drop out," Alfred said quietly.

Liz nodded. "He wanted to write poetry, always did, and he wasn't learning anything in his classes. It was a waste of his time. He had planned to work for a while to save some money while he tried to get published, but he kept getting rejected and then the company went under." She shook her head. "It was so hard on him. He kept writing, but I think he gave up on ever doing it as a living. Actually, I think he stopped for a while right after." She sighed. "I have never seen him more miserable. Poetry is his life, Alfred." She took his hand and looked at him earnestly. "He has so little that's steady in his life. Jobs are hard to come by right now, and it seems like he's always trying to find new work. I am so grateful he has you now. I hope you two last, for both of your sakes." She patted his hand.

Alfred looked at her sincerely. "I will do everything in my power to make sure he is happy."

She smiled, and for a moment, Alfred could see genuine relief in her eyes. "Thank you. I'm so glad."

He smiled too. "I just hope I can."

She stood and brushed off her dress. "I'm sure you will. I can tell already, you're off to a great start."

* * *

><p>They ended up staying longer than they had intended. It seemed like every time they were about to leave, Liz would corner them and convince them to stay just a little longer. Arthur ended up drinking too much champagne, so then they had to wait for him to sober up because neither of them trusted Alfred to drive anywhere on the left side of the road. By the time they left, it was dark. It was therefore only appropriate that halfway through the drive Arthur's car should come to a grinding, spectacular halt. So, approximately five hours after they had planned to leave, they were both standing in the freezing night air on the side of the road.<p>

"Look, Arthur–"

"We're 45 minutes from home and in the absolute middle of nowhere. Why did the car have to break down _now?_" Arthur growled.

"It's not a big deal," Alfred said in his version of a soothing tone. "We can just find a hotel somewhere and spend the night."

"Spend the night?" Arthur practically screeched. "Why would we need to do that? You're supposed to say that once we call them and they get here they'll be able to fix it. Telling me it's not going to get fixed is not helpful."

Alfred gave him an incredulous look. "Okay, not to be a pessimist here, but judging from the noise it made–"

"Alright."

"And the burning smell–"

"Alright!" Arthur snapped. He whipped out his cell phone. "I'm giving them a call. Now just be quiet and we'll see what they say. Hello? Yes, my name is Arthur Kirkland . . ."

It took the tow truck almost an hour to reach them. By the time it did, Arthur had already gone through about five different kinds of anger and finally settled into a very quiet seething state. Alfred had long since given up trying to talk to him. Unsurprisingly, the mechanic informed them that the car was going to need to go to the shop, but there was some hope it would be fixed by morning. "Where would you like me to take you?"

"The nearest hotel," Alfred said promptly. Arthur gave him a glare.

"Of course." So, after a long drive in the very slow tow truck, that was exactly where they went.

Arthur seemed to have lost all his energy except for his own special reserve he kept for sarcastic comments, so Alfred decided it would be best if he did all the talking. The lady at the front desk gave them a long, unreadable look. "Would you gentlemen care for two rooms, or a room with two singles? I can also offer you–"

"One room, one bed," Alfred said. "Better make that a Queen. Or a King."

The lady blinked and couldn't help smiling a little. "A Queen it is. Breakfast and tea are included. Here are your room keys. It's just upstairs and on the right." Arthur seethed silently in the background while Alfred smiled and expressed his thanks.

They stumbled up the stairs and into their room. "What time is it? 11 at night?" Arthur snapped. "Perfect. I haven't eaten since lunch."

"Me neither," Alfred said with a sigh. "You just stay here and I'll go try to scrounge up some food, okay?"

"Nothing's going to be open, it's almost midnight!"

"I'll find something," Alfred said, finally sounding a little irritated. "I'm hungry too, you know."

"Yes, yes. Get on with it then." Arthur shrugged off his coat and threw it carelessly onto a chair.

"I will."

Alfred left. Arthur listened to his receding footsteps as he settled into the chair to wait. Fifteen minutes felt like an eternity. The smell of food that preceded Alfred was the only thing that kept Arthur from snapping at him the moment he opened the door. Alfred shoved a bag of McDonald's at him.

"It was the only place open, and the hotel wouldn't give me any food because it's not tea hours or whatever." Alfred settled comfortably on the bed and pulled one of several hamburgers out of his bag. They ate in silence. After a while, Alfred stretched and said he was going to go to bed. Arthur made a noncommittal noise, licked the grease off his fingers (which he would later deny) and waited until Alfred had shucked off his pants and crawled under the covers before doing the same.

Alfred looked at him expectantly, but Arthur turned over so his back was to Alfred. After a moment, Alfred turned off the light. He rolled back and forth, sighing and shifting the sheets every now and then, but Arthur kept a firm hold on his half of the blankets to make sure Alfred didn't steal them. He was determined to remain angry at Alfred for at least the remainder of the night – why, he wasn't entirely sure – but Alfred was making it increasingly difficult by shifting around like that. He gritted his teeth and tried to will away his desire to just turn over and curl up against Alfred. Finally Alfred settled down. A warm arm snuck around Arthur's waist and he felt warm breath on his neck. "Goodnight," Alfred said softly.

"Goodnight," Arthur returned gruffly. They both knew he was faking it, and he could almost feel Alfred's smile pressed into his neck. It wasn't long before Alfred's arm became dead weight and it became clear that he had fallen asleep. Perhaps it was because of the late hour, perhaps the stress of the day, or perhaps because of something else, Arthur felt his eyelids becoming heavy and soon feel into a deep sleep.

* * *

><p>Arthur woke to warm sheets and a dim but clear light from behind the curtains. He titled his head a little to the side and was met with the sight of Alfred sprawled out beside him. He lay on his back but his head was titled towards Arthur, and Arthur could feel his faint and gentle breath on his skin. He looked very different asleep. His eyebrows were relaxed in a way they never were when he was awake, because he used them whenever he smiled. His mouth was slightly parted and even the laugh lines had been smoothed out of his face. Bits of his hair stuck up, but for the most part it draped over his forehead and touched his eyelashes. He had pushed off most of the blankets and the cream sheets had become wrinkled and folded around him. His hand rested near Arthur's shoulder, the fingers relaxed but slightly outstretched as though they had fallen asleep touching. It was the first time Arthur had really seen Alfred when he wasn't wearing his glasses. He looked younger without them. Arthur's heart squeezed painfully. Alfred looked beautiful in the morning.<p>

There was poetry even in the wrinkled sheets and the creases in his fingers. The little shadows; the warmth of his breath; the way Arthur thought he could feel Alfred's heartbeat even from this distance. Arthur wanted to touch him, but he was sure that if he did he would ruin it.

Alfred shifted, rolled over onto his side, and his breathing changed. Blue eyes opened to meet Arthur's and Alfred smiled. It was not a lazy grin, but something soft and sweet. Arthur's heart thudded in his chest. Without a word, Alfred reached over and kissed him.

"I haven't brushed my teeth in over 24 hours, you know," Arthur said when they parted, because it was the first thing that came to mind that wasn't all poetry and things he didn't want to say aloud.

Alfred grinned this time. "Don't care. 'Morning, Artie."

"Good morning yourself," Arthur returned easily.

Alfred looped an arm around Arthur's waist and buried his head in the crook of Arthur's neck with a sigh. "Should do this more often."

"We should do what more often?" Arthur asked as he tentatively stroked Alfred's hair.

"Sleepin' over. Just you an' me."

"It's always just you and me," Arthur said dryly.

"Mmm," Alfred said into his shoulder. He finally raised his head and yawned widely.

"You're not still tired, are you?" Arthur asked. He could see the clock now; it was after nine in the morning.

"Just don't wanna get up." Alfred rolled back over onto his back and his hand somehow found Arthur's.

"Well, we should," Arthur said fondly. "Breakfast is only served until 10, you know."

Alfred looked at him with a smile that made Arthur's stomach do odd things. "We've got time. What do you say to some kissing beforehand?"

"I thought you were tired," Arthur said dryly, but he let Alfred pull him closer.

"I just said I wanted to stay in bed." Alfred grinned and kissed him again. Arthur sighed a little into his lips. He didn't realize he was smiling until Alfred pulled back and gave him a funny look. "You're in a good mood."

"Hmm?" Arthur's lips twitched, but he didn't stop smiling. "I slept well."

Alfred's eyebrows drew together slightly in concern. He raised a hand to Arthur's cheek. Arthur only tensed slightly. "You haven't been sleeping well?"

"I never do."

"But you did last night." Alfred grinned and pulled Arthur on top of him, which startled laughter out of Arthur. Alfred gave Arthur a kiss, long and lingering this time. "I'm glad."

Arthur grinned down at him. "Maybe we have a little time before breakfast starts after all."

* * *

><p><em>Author's notes: <em>I realize that Elizabeta/veta/beth and Roderich should be getting married on June 8th to be totally canon, but that doesn't really work within the timeline of this story, sooo let's say that was when they started dating?


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: _Second to last chapter.

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 4<em>

After the wedding, they went back to something similar to their old routine: meet up, go back to Arthur's place occasionally, all filled with Alfred's teasing and Arthur's quiet smiles. They seemed a little closer, but neither of them talked about it. They never talked about the wedding, either, or how that night in the hotel had made it feel like they almost had something real and normal.

About a week after they got back, Alfred became very busy. He only had time to stop by the bridge twice in the space of five days, and then only for a few minutes. The second time, he was distracted and babbling about a test he had barely passed, but he still noticed that Arthur seemed more quiet and serious than usual. Alfred paused in his long explanation and looked at Arthur curiously. "All you alright?"

Arthur glanced at him briefly and then back at a point in the distance. "Yes, I'm fine."

"You seem kinda quiet." Alfred took a step towards him but Arthur actually took a step back.

"It's nothing."

"Okay, if you say so," Alfred said uncertainly. He took one of Arthur's hands in his and gave it a little squeeze. He pecked Arthur on the cheek but Arthur barely reacted. "I gotta go, but I'll see you soon, yeah?"

"Yes," Arthur said.

Alfred was close enough to being late that he had to run all the way back to his apartment, but he couldn't help wondering what was going on with Arthur.

* * *

><p>"Hey," Alfred called out the next time he saw Arthur.<p>

Arthur looked up and smiled, though the smile was strained. "Hello," he said when Alfred got closer.

Alfred grinned. "You seem a bit peachier today."

"Hmm," Arthur said noncommittally. He was still smiling, though, so Alfred took that as a good sign.

Alfred took him into a hug, which made Arthur let out a small noise of surprise. "I just feel like I haven't seen in so long," Alfred mumbled into his hair by way of explanation. He let go and examined Arthur. Arthur looked up at him. He was squinting slightly and the bags under his eyes were very noticeable. Alfred was shocked. "Arthur, you look awful," Alfred said honestly. He couldn't keep the worry from his voice.

Arthur sighed a little and closed his eyes briefly. "I'm sorry. I'm just very tired."

"How come? Your jobs weren't tiring you out _this _much before."

Arthur shook his head slightly. "I had to take on longer hours. I'm still adjusting, that's all."

Alfred frowned. "You should quit the nightshift one. It can't be worth this."

Arthur just changed the subject. "How is school?"

"Fine. Busy part's over. But really, Arthur, you should get some more sleep."

Arthur smiled slightly. "I know."

"No, really." Alfred peered at him closely. "Like, you shouldn't be here. You should be sleeping right now."

Arthur sighed. "I can't."

"It's not that difficult. Just go lie down and take a nap. You don't need to feel like you should wait here for me."

"It's not that. I can't sleep during the day. My body just . . . won't shut down."

Alfred put a finger under his chin and tilted his head up. Arthur looked at him in the eyes. Alfred's gaze was searching and very worried. He brushed a thumb across Arthur's cheek and Arthur flinched. "Why do you always do that when I touch your face?" Alfred demanded.

"Sorry. I don't mean to." Arthur glanced away. "I know I have bags under my eyes. I had a boyfriend who used to bug me about them all the time."

"That's silly." Alfred's hand dropped away. "You can't help it. Come on. I'll take you back to my place and you can take a nap."

"I told you–" Arthur began, but Alfred took his hand and began to drag him resolutely off the bridge.

"I'm not letting you hurt yourself like this, Artie. You need sleep."

Alfred didn't catch the devastated look on Arthur's face.

* * *

><p>Arthur tentatively let Alfred lead him into his apartment. It looked a little different than when he had been there last time. He finally realized this was because the kitchen table was covered with paper and a typewriter was sitting in the middle of it. "You have a typewriter?" he asked, half incredulously, half in awe.<p>

Alfred grinned. "Sure do! Cheeper than printing scripts all the time, which is what I use it for."

"You don't just keep them on the computer?" Arthur was still looking at it distractedly as Alfred pushed him gently towards the couch.

"I don't think it's a script until it's on a piece of paper. Come on, up you go." Arthur obediently lay down on the couch while Alfred went to go find something. He returned a few minutes later with the blankets off his own bed. Arthur smiled gratefully at him for not making him sleep in his bed; Alfred had mentioned a roommate once and Arthur didn't want to be the cause of any embarrassing questions. Alfred had homework he had to do, so he brought it into the living room, sat down on the floor across from Arthur, and started working on it.

Arthur watched him for a while. He wasn't exactly taking this as seriously as it was clear Alfred expected him to; he knew he wasn't going to just fall asleep. Even so, it was nice to relax, and watching Alfred work was very relaxing. Alfred furrowed his brow frequently in thought, and his pencil would frequently end up with its end in his mouth. He wouldn't really chew on it, though, just sort of nibble on the end. It was possibly one of the most adorable things Arthur had ever seen. Arthur smiled a little. Alfred was so sweet. He didn't deserve him.

Arthur closed his eyes, simply because blinking was becoming an annoyance. Also, he had developed a headache at some point. Were he had Alfred dating? They had never talked about it, but really, he supposed they were. He had long stopped wondering what Alfred's motives might be. Casual sex was no stranger to him, if that was Alfred wanted – but the whole being friends thing had sort of messed with that theory (because, he supposed, Alfred was his friend now). Alfred was clearly sweet, and kind, and dedicated, which all suggested boyfriend material, so Arthur was good with that side of things, too. The future . . . well, Arthur had had a lot of practice in not thinking about the future. It wasn't too difficult to avoid it in this case, too.

Without his being aware of it, Arthur Kirkland drifted off to sleep.

* * *

><p>Arthur woke to the noise of the front door opening and the sudden sound of voices. "–which is what I told him," Alfred's voice was saying. Arthur opened his eyes and was met with the sight of three people, only one of which he knew, staring at him.<p>

"Hey, you're awake," Alfred said.

The one with the white hair and the red eyes grinned a pointy grin altogether too different from Alfred's. "Hello, gorgeous."

Arthur abruptly sat up and glared.

"This here's Arthur," Alfred said as he closed the door behind them. "He was having trouble sleeping so I let him come over and take a nap."

"It's nice to meet you," said the third member of the party, a short, boyish-looking man with light brown hair and blue eyes. He hung shyly to the back of the trio.

"This is Toris, my roommate," Alfred said, pointing at the man who had just spoken, "And that's Gilbert." Gilbert grinned. "We were going to have a melee." Arthur blinked. "Uh, play some computer games."

There was a moment of silence. "Oh," Arthur suddenly said, and stood up. He let the blanket fall carelessly on the floor. "You'll need the couch, then."

Gilbert laughed. "Sharp one, Al."

Arthur flushed angrily. "I'll be going then," he snapped, and grabbed his coat off the back of the couch.

"No, wait," Alfred said, looking surprised at the suggestion, "Don't do that. You can just sleep in my bed." Gilbert snickered.

"No thanks," Arthur said crisply.

"Really, Artie," Alfred said, but Arthur had already thrown on his coat and was pushing past them.

"Thanks for letting me stay here," Arthur muttered, and disappeared out the door.

"So that's him," Gilbert said with a grin as the door snapped shut.

* * *

><p>Alfred came over to Arthur's flat a few hours later. Arthur would have liked to have pretended to be at work, or at least not at home, but Alfred said, "Arthur?" in his sad voice after he knocked, and Arthur lost his will to be mean. He opened the door clothed only in sweats and an old t-shirt. Alfred's mouth dropped open.<p>

"What?" Arthur demanded irritably, both to Alfred's presence at his door and his strange look.

"I've never seen you something so casual before."

"I've been trying to sleep." Arthur looked at him dully. The bags under his eyes looked almost worse because his hair was so disheveled and his skin so pale.

Alfred's look of concern returned full-force. "You weren't asleep, were you?"

"No."

"Okay, I was just coming over to see if you were okay, but clearly you aren't." Alfred half pushed Arthur back inside and closed the door behind him. "You didn't have to leave, you know."

"I wouldn't have been able to sleep with the sound of you blowing up things, anyway," Arthur said. He turned and walked over to his bed. He sat down against the headboard and pulled his knees up to his chest. He looked away. "Well, to be honest . . . I can't say I really wanted to meet your friends."

Alfred settled down next to him on the bed. "Why not? You might like them. I don't know, but you can't know until you try, right?"

Arthur sighed. "Alfred, I hardly think they'd like me. I'm not . . . _that _part of your life."

Alfred took Arthur's hand in his own and threaded their fingers together. He looked at Arthur with big, hopeful eyes. "Well, you couldbe." Arthur looked surprised. "I mean, at the beginning of all this I said I was interested in you, and I haven't given up, right? So . . . what do you say? Do you want to be my boyfriend, officially?"

Arthur smiled a little, though there was a touch of sadness to it. "I would love to, but I think it would be a bad idea."

"What? Why?" Alfred looked heartbreakingly sad.

"You're going to graduate soon," Arthur said gently. He gave Alfred's hand a little squeeze. "You want to go back to the States, don't you?"

Alfred made a face. "That's besides the point."

"No, it's not. Do you want to move back?"

Alfred sighed. "Kinda. I mean, it was home, and it still kinda is, I guess, but I like it here too."

Arthur actually chuckled a little. "I don't see why."

Alfred frowned at Arthur. Arthur obligingly raised an eyebrow curiously. "Don't be so self-deprecating all the time."

"Oh, big word." Arthur closed his eyes. He was still very tired, whether he liked it or not.

"Don't be like that."

"I'm not. And I was talking about England, not me."

"They're the same thing."

Arthur frowned and his eyes opened a crack. "What?"

Alfred smiled at him. "You don't really think I'd stay here because I like the weather, do you?"

Arthur's eyes snapped open and he glared at Alfred. _"What?"_

Alfred's smile fell. "Uh, I like you and I might want to stay with you?"

"No," Arthur said flatly. He looked almost terrifying in his angry and sleep-deprived state. "You cannot sacrifice your happiness just to keep me company."

Alfred sat up now. He looked thoroughly confused. "I wouldn't be? I wouldn't say this if I didn't want to be with you, Arthur."

"You just said that you don't like England, or its weather, and that you'd rather be back in the States. One person _cannot _determine your happiness, Alfred." Alfred started to speak, but Arthur cut him off. "I am _not _making this up. I've been through this before. If you always want to be back home – and don't give me that crap about home is where the heart is, because I've seen how much you love your country – you are never going to be truly happy away from it. If you decide to stay here–" Arthur gripped Alfred's hand so tightly his nails dug into his wrist– "It will be the biggest mistake of your life."

"First of all," Alfred said, making no move to remove Arthur's hand, "I didn't say those things, you did. Second of all, being back in the States is not at all as important to me as you seem to think it is."

"What if something happens and we can't be together anymore?" Arthur asked. "You'll regret it, you'll be unhappy, and you'll blame me."

"Of course not." Alfred was starting to sound angry now. "This is 100% my decision."

"If I'm involved, it's mine too," Arthur said flatly. He let go of Alfred's wrist. Alfred automatically took it in his other hand and began to smooth out the red marks.

"Well then _explain _to me your objections, because I don't get it! If you don't like me, just reject me already!"

Arthur looked like he had been slapped. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?"

Arthur sighed heavily. Suddenly, he looked exhausted all over again. "I don't want either of us to get hurt, and if you stay here because of me, that's exactly what you'll be. I can't make you happy."

"What? Of course you can." Alfred looked so honest it nearly broke his heart. "I've been happier since I met you than I have been for a long time. You don't have to _do _anything, I just am."

"This–" Arthur spread his hand out at them, lying there in bed. "This is exactly what I mean. It makes you feel good to think you're helping me, I understand that, I really do, but you _can't. _This sleep thing, for example; I've tried everything, even drugs." Alfred looked scandalized. "Sleeping pills, not real drugs," Arthur snapped. "The sooner you figure out that you can't magically make me happy, the sooner you're going to realize that a longterm relationship with me is not what you want. If you can't make me happy, I can't make you happy."

"But I can make you happy!" Alfred whined. "I have been, haven't I? You've been smiling more than when I met you. And Liz said–" Alfred hesitated.

Arthur's frown deepened. "What did Liz say?"

"She said she thought this – us – would be good for you." Alfred set his mouth mulishly. "I think she was right."

Arthur was quiet for a moment. "I like spending time with you," he said quietly, "But I have issues that you don't need to deal with. I may be happy now, but it's just now. And don't look at me like that. I don't need to be . . . fixed. I don't want you to try to, and you're going to."

Alfred shook his head. "I won't do anything that you don't want me to do. I can keep you from being lonely. Isn't that enough?"

"No!" Arthur shouted. There was a pain in his eyes that Alfred had never seen before. "Because then you're going to decide that I need to be on medication, and see a therapist, and _fuck it _Alfred, _you can't help me._" Arthur wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand. He refused to acknowledge why; he most certainly was not crying. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and then he was being pulled close against Alfred's chest.

"I can help you," Alfred said firmly. The words vibrated through his chest. "I won't try to fix everything if you tell me not to, but I can keep you from being lonely." He gently took Arthur's hands away from his eyes and wiped away his tears. "I'm not going to leave you. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," Arthur whispered.

Alfred smiled into his hair. Arthur could feel it. "Give me a chance and we'll see who's right. Deal?"

Arthur was silent for a moment. "Deal," he finally said with a sigh. He let his head rest against Alfred's chest. Alfred hugged him close for a moment and then pulled back the covers. Arthur obediently lay down. Alfred slid under the covers next to him.

"Comfy?" Alfred asked.

"Very," Arthur replied. There was a moment of silence. He closed his eyes. "Talk to me."

"Talk to you, huh?" Alfred chewed his lip in thought.

"Tell me why you came to England." Arthur could already feel the tension draining out of his body.

Alfred laughed a little. "I thought I told you already." Arthur merely hummed in response. "Well, I wanted to get away from my family." Alfred sighed and scooted a little closer. His hair brushed Arthur's cheek. "They thought I was wasting my time."

"With what?"

"Screenwriting. You know, for a while I wanted to be a firefighter, and they were just like, 'Okay honey, sounds good.' Then I started thinking about movies, and maybe screenwriting, but I wasn't sure so I mentioned that I wanted to be in the movie business. They just sort of nodded and smiled and said it sounded great. When I was applying to college, though, I started really thinking about it and about all the stories I'd tried to write and I decided, you know what, this is what I really want to do. I finally found a place that had good classes for it, and I applied and got in, and – and then I had to declare my major." Alfred buried his nose in Arthur's hair. "They were pissed."

"So you left?" Arthur asked absently. "Why didn't you stick it out? Were you living at home?"

Alfred grumbled. "It didn't matter. I was close enough they could yell at me in person no matter what."

"So you thought an ocean and a time difference would help."

"Yeah."

Arthur smiled a little. "Did it?"

"Well, now they're so mad at me they just don't talk to me at all, so yeah."

"Hmm." Arthur reached over and ran his fingers through Alfred's hair. "There, there." Alfred sighed heavily in response and leaned into his touch. They were quiet for a while. Arthur dozed and Alfred fell completely asleep. At some point, Arthur disentangled himself from Alfred and checked the time.

Alfred woke up and peered at him groggily. "What time is it?"

"Late enough I should get up soon." Arthur stroked a hand through Alfred's hair. "Not yet, though."

Alfred was quiet for a moment. "You know," he said finally, "I haven't read one of your poems in a while. I get to ask a question, right? Have you ever written a poem about a person? Not like for Liz and Roddy's wedding. Like . . . a love poem."

Arthur's fingers stilled for a moment, and then resumed their work. "You can't read it," he warned Alfred.

"But the answer's yes, then."

_All the time,_ Arthur thought, as he thought of all the little pieces of poetry that always tugged at his attention when Alfred was near. "Yes."

"Do you think . . ." Alfred seemed to be struggling with his words. "Do you think it's fair to write about people? When you don't tell them?"

"I don't think being 'fair' really comes into it," Arthur said quietly. "If you feel like you need to, then you should."

Alfred made a thoughtful noise. "It's funny you said 'need.'"

"Well, that's what it's like for me."

Alfred looked at him thoughtfully and then kissed him. Arthur closed his eyes at the pleasant sensation. "So we're dating now, right?"

"If you like. It might take me a little while to get used to it," Arthur warned him with a smile.

Alfred grinned, the first time he had in a while. "I can wait. I should let you get dressed."

Arthur nodded. "I'll see you later."

"Yup." Alfred got out of bed and pulled on his shoes. He touched Arthur's cheek briefly. "Take care of yourself, Arthur."

* * *

><p>Alfred's writing habits were very irregular. Usually he'd grab his typewriter when inspiration struck and just write until he was done. However, when he got home that night, he sat on his bed and put the typewriter in front of him. He bit his lip thoughtfully and started typing. Sometimes the words came easily, and sometimes he would type out, word by painful word, a whole line.<p>

_Ting. _Carriage return.

Alfred stayed up late and went through 20 pages of paper that night. He slept in and nearly missed all his classes.


	5. Chapter 5

_Chapter 5_

Arthur showed up abruptly at Alfred's door one afternoon a few days later. Alfred blinked at him in surprise. "Aren't you supposed to be working?" he blurted out.

"Day off. May I come in?" Arthur demanded.

"Yeah, of course." Alfred let him inside.

Arthur looked around the apartment with a calculating gaze. "Roommate in?"

"No, he's got class until 4. Why?"

Arthur made a little humming noise in his throat and then turned around. He looped one arm around Alfred's neck, buried his other hand in Alfred's hair, and dragged him down for a kiss. Alfred made a muffled noise of surprise but quickly gave into the kiss. When they parted, Alfred looked at Arthur with half-glazed eyes. Arthur raised an eyebrow delicately. "Well?"

Maybe it was a little sudden, but if Arthur wanted him, he certainly wasn't complaining. Alfred smirked, kissed Arthur solidly, and began to work on the first of the buttons of his shirt.

By the time they got to Alfred's bedroom, they were in varying states of undress. The rest of their clothing was the work of seconds. When Alfred threw Arthur on the bed and began to lick and kiss his way across his torso, however, Arthur put a hand in his hair and said, "Wait." Alfred looked up in surprise. Arthur frowned slightly, as if he were thinking very hard about something. "I want to go more slowly."

"Alright," Alfred said, a bit surprised. Slow was usually the last thing Arthur wanted. He placed a slow kiss to the inside of Arthur's knee.

Arthur's leg jerked a little. "No. I want to be in control."

Alfred pouted a little just for show, but he was honestly curious. "Okay, whatever you want." He crawled up the bed until he was lying flush with Arthur. Arthur smiled softly at him and touched his hair.

"You asked if I write poems about people." Alfred nodded, not seeing how this was relevant. "I do, but I often have a hard time putting it into words." Alfred opened his mouth to ask him what he meant, but Arthur put a finger on his lips to shush him. "I would like to try to show you." Alfred looked at him with those honest, trusting blue eyes of his and nodded. Arthur drew his finger away, pushed Alfred onto his back, and sat up.

Arthur picked up one of Alfred's hands. He didn't know why, but he loved Alfred's hands. Every vein, every tendon seemed to be in just the right place. His fingernails were always slightly rough from being chewed, and _elegant _would hardly ever be a word to describe his hands, but Arthur loved them anyway. He flipped Alfred's hand over and stroked a finger across his palm. He pressed his fingertip against one of Alfred's; there were slight calluses there, Arthur could feel them. His fingers ghosted back over Alfred's hand until he found the right place to start. "Do you see this place here, where your thumb meets your hand?" Alfred frowned a little but nodded. Arthur let his finger rest there. "I could write an entire poem about this place." Alfred snorted. Arthur looked at him and calmly raised an eyebrow. He dropped Alfred's hand and leaned close to his face. He ran his finger quickly along the space just under Alfred's eyebrow. "This here? One of the loveliest places of your body."

Alfred looked up at him incredulously. "You have to be joking."

"No," Arthur said firmly, "I am not. Do you want to know why you can't see it? Because you see yourself everyday." Arthur placed a kiss in the hollow of Alfred's throat. Alfred squirmed a little underneath him. Arthur nipped the place. Alfred made a strange, strangled noise and his head fell back. Arthur immediately kissed his throat, sucking in some places, until he reached the underside of Alfred's jaw. He nipped the skin gently and Alfred let out a quiet whine. Arthur sat back with a satisfied smile on his face. "Do you understand now?" he asked.

Alfred looked up at him, disappointed and pleading. "No," he said pitifully.

Arthur sighed and swung a leg over Alfred, straddling him. He settled himself comfortably on Alfred's thighs and leaned over him. "It means," Arthur said, and planted a kiss on Alfred's sternum, "That there is no part of you," a kiss to the place where his abs first faintly showed themselves, "That I do not love." His last one was on his bellybutton. He looked up at Alfred. Alfred was straining to look at him. Conflicting emotions were swimming in his eyes. Arthur tried to pretend all he could see was lust, that none of it was the absolute devotion that hurt him to see. "I want every single part of you," Arthur whispered, and placed a kiss to the inside of Alfred's thigh.

Alfred shuddered as Arthur laved an even more sensitive area. He had gone hard a long time ago, and as embarrassing as it was, Arthur's speech had made him even harder. He knew what Arthur was trying to say. It hurt him that Arthur couldn't just say it aloud, but Alfred couldn't blame him. So when Arthur had feathered him with kisses and sucked him close to completion, Alfred dragged Arthur up to his level and held him there. Arthur looked at him with a confused frown. Alfred wanted to tell him, but it was so _difficult. _Arthur made everything difficult. Alfred was pretty sure he had realized something about Arthur pretty recently, but he wasn't sure what it was, and Arthur was looking at him with those beautiful green eyes, and Alfred _didn't know what to say. _"No," Alfred growled, and pushed Arthur down beneath him. Arthur made a noise of protest but Alfred shook his head. "You – you had a chance to say what you wanted to say. Can I have one, too?" Arthur blinked at him and nodded.

Alfred's hands trembled as he ran his fingers through Arthur's hair. He kissed him fiercely. It wasn't any different from any time before, but it _was. How did I just realize this? _Alfred wondered. Arthur had always been beautiful, but _God. _

Arthur was a little more accommodating than usual. He let his limbs slide comfortably around Alfred's and let them get tangled up in each other like they usually only were afterward. When Alfred went in, he tried to be twice as gentle as usual, and Arthur smiled up at him lazily. Arthur was so hot and tight it made Alfred tingle all over. He pushed in, and out, and Arthur bit his lip but Alfred didn't because he hated it when Arthur wouldn't make noise, so he made enough noise for both of them. Arthur let a little cry slip at some point and Alfred shuddered. He came twice as quickly as usual, and when Arthur came he really did cry out. They tangled their limbs together and lay there, sticky and damp, for so long Arthur fell asleep. When he woke up, Alfred was still stroking his hair gently. Arthur smiled.

It was when they were dressing, slowly, one item at a time, that Arthur spoke. "I lost my job."

Alfred turned from his place on the bed and looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"I lost my job. That's why I've been so tired. I took the nightshift one on full time." Arthur smiled faintly and pulled his shirt over his head. "Just thought you should know."

Alfred took one of Arthur's hands and pulled him close to him. "Arthur! You didn't tell me all this time?" He looked confused and hurt. "When did you lose it?"

Arthur shrugged as best he could with Alfred holding one of his arms hostage. "Week after we got back from Liz and Roderich's wedding."

Alfred made a small noise and scooted closer to Arthur. He kissed him. "You should have told me." He gathered Arthur into his arms. "Don't you trust me?"

Arthur let his cheek rest on Alfred's shoulder. He ran a finger down Alfred's leg, resting on the whole in the knee of his jeans. He picked a little at the fraying edges. "I'm trying. That's why I'm telling you now, you know."

"That's all I ask," Alfred replied quietly.

* * *

><p>A few days later, Arthur showed up on Alfred's doorstep. He smiled slightly. "By the way, the other day I forgot to mention that I'm being evicted tomorrow at noon. I'm trying to see if I can stay with an old friend, but our relationship has been a little, ah, complicated in the past. Would I be able to stay here for the next few days while I sort things out?"<p>

Alfred nearly had a heart attack. "You _what? _I thought you lost your job super recently! How did this happen?"

Arthur made a derisive noise and flapped his hand. "I've been behind on the rent. It's over now, anyway. Do you have room for my belongings? I'm afraid they don't all fit in my car."

"Arthur," Alfred exclaimed, still caught up on the main issue at hand, "You don't need to call some random friend. I can put you up for more than a few _nights_. Do you want to move in with me?"

Now it was Arthur's turn to pause. "Pardon?"

"I have the room! Toris has been wanting to move in with Felix for _forever _–"

"Alfred," Arthur said warningly. "I would really appreciate this as a favor, but moving in with you–"

"Oh, I should go find Toris," Alfred said, completely ignoring what Arthur had just said. He disappeared inside, leaving Arthur standing outside the open door and rather confused. After a few minutes, he stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He looked around. Alfred's living room was somewhat different than the last time he had seen it. There was now a typewriter sitting on the coffee table with paper scattered around it. Before he had a chance to see what was written on the paper, however, Alfred reappeared with Toris in tow.

"See?" Alfred said as he pointed at Arthur, as if his presence there explained everything.

Toris looked at Arthur dubiously. "Are – are you sure?" he asked.

Arthur realized that Toris was talking to him. "Am I sure about what?" Arthur asked, looking between Alfred and his roommate.

Toris came over to him. "If you can't pay the rent, Alfred will pay all of it," Toris said earnestly. "Please be sure to pay him back. He's very forgetful, but he's also too generous."

Arthur blinked. "No, I can pay the rent." _Probably. _

Toris looked relieved. "That's good, then. I'll call Felix and get him to help me pack. I'll be out of here by the end of tomorrow." Toris walked back towards where Arthur assumed his bedroom was.

"Wait," Arthur said, now utterly confused. "Who's Felix?"

"My boyfriend."

"His boyfriend," Alfred said at the same time. "He's been wanting to move in with him, and I keep telling him he _should_–" Here Alfred rolled his eyes, "But he wouldn't until I got someone to replace him and pay his half of the rent."

"Oh," said Arthur.

Alfred came over and slapped Arthur on the back. He grinned. "So, what do you say? Wanna live with me?"

"I–" Arthur rubbed his temples. "Alfred, do you have any idea how idiotic this is? Really, I'm sure my friend has room for me–"

"But I'm you're _boyfriend,_" Alfred pointed out. He took Arthur's hands. "If it really isn't working out, you can call your friend. But can we try?"

"My work schedule–" Arthur tried.

"Not a problem. I adjust super easily to stuff like that and I sleep more soundly than anyone else I know."

Arthur couldn't help a smile. Alfred was too enthusiastic about everything, too hopeful – almost exactly the opposite of Arthur, and yet somehow they had made it work this far. "I suppose. But _please _tell your roommate to not do anything on my account," he said as Alfred whooped happily.

"Too late," Alfred said with a grin. "Think of it as doing him a favor."

"But–"

"Where's your stuff?" Alfred interrupted.

Arthur sighed. "Some of it's in my car. Most of it's still in my flat in boxes."

"You boxed it already? Artie." Alfred took him by the shoulders. "You should have told me. I would have helped you."

"Well, now you can help me carry it up and down all those godforsaken stairs," he muttered. He blushed a little and looked away from Alfred.

Alfred pecked him on the lips, surprising Arthur into looking at him. "I forgive you," Alfred said. "Now let's go get them boxes, yeah?"

* * *

><p>It was over an hour later when they finished moving all of Arthur's boxes into what was very soon to be their flat. Arthur didn't have that many boxes, really, but his car couldn't carry very many of them and Alfred kept disrupting their progress by trying to see what was inside the boxes as he moved them. Their contents varied, but they were mostly old books and trinkets, some of which Alfred would not have expected Arthur to have. There were little lacquered boxes and chipped teacups and saucers and even a tiny porcelain unicorn. Alfred seemed to want to spend all day going through Arthur's stuff, but Arthur informed him sharply that he wasn't going to see any more of it until it had been unpacked. By the time they were done, however, it was dinnertime, and then Arthur had to leave for work, so no unpacking was done. Arthur promised to return in the morning – and no, he assured Alfred with a sigh when he asked, he wasn't going anywhere.<p>

* * *

><p>Arthur came in the next morning while Alfred and Toris were eating breakfast. He looked exhausted and didn't say a word, just grabbed a piece of bread and headed for Alfred's bed. When Alfred went to check on him later, he found him sprawled on top of the covers with the half-eaten piece of bread beside him. Alfred kissed him on the cheek and went to class.<p>

* * *

><p>When Alfred came home, he found a note from Toris and an envelope on the kitchen table. It said that he was officially moved out, but he would of course check in on Alfred every now and then, and the money in the envelope was his half of the rent for the rest of the month. Alfred left the note on the table and went in search of Arthur.<p>

Arthur's voice floated to him out of his bedroom. He seemed to be talking on the phone. "No, Francis," he was saying, "I _told _you, I haven't gone around the bend! I am perfectly sane. Yes, he's very sweet. Of course I'd rather live with him than you, frog," he snapped. Alfred pushed open the door and peeked inside. Arthur was sitting on the bed with his phone pressed to his ear. He glanced at Alfred and gave him a brief nod of acknowledgement. "Do _you_ think I have savings?" There was a pause. "Yes, thanks all the same. I hope to _not_ speak to you again soon." Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed the _Off _button violently. Alfred got the feeling that he was the sort of person who was more suited to the type of phone that one could hang up by slamming it down decisively. "Hello," Arthur said.

Alfred grinned. "Hello. Who was that?"

Arthur ran his fingers through his already messy hair. "Francis. Old friend. Was going to stay with him before . . ." He gestured at the room and the apartment at large. He smiled a little. "I still haven't thanked you for this, have I? I appreciate it. You have no idea how little I was looking forward to living with the frog."

Alfred grinned and sat down next to him on the bed. "You're welcome. Did you see Toris moved out?"

Arthur nodded distractedly. "He said goodbye when he left. Nice . . . boyfriend he has."

Alfred chuckled. "I know, hard to tell, right? But you know what that means?" Arthur turned curious green eyes on him. "This place is all ours." Alfred leaned over and kissed him sweetly.

When they parted, Arthur was smiling slightly. As he looked into Alfred's eyes, however, his smile faded. "Alfred . . ."

"Slow as molasses, I swear," Alfred said with an innocent grin. "If you want to move out, just say it. No hard feelings."

Arthur frowned a little. "Just . . . don't be unreasonable."

"Don't be in love, you mean," Alfred said, but before Arthur could say anything, Alfred had tackled him with a kiss. Later, he would deny saying anything at all.

* * *

><p>It took them a few days to fall into a routine. Alfred tried to convince Arthur to quit working altogether until he could find a job that didn't insist he work the night shift, but Arthur would hear none of it. It was strange, only sleeping together once or twice a week, but it worked. They still ate two meals together, though not the same food. When Arthur got home from work and would want something resembling dinner, Alfred would just be getting up and making himself breakfast. Arthur would nap while Alfred did his homework and was at school, and when he got home the sound of the door would wake him and he'd give Alfred a good-afternoon kiss. He'd nap again, and then he would get up while Alfred prepared dinner. Arthur would be out the door before Alfred got in bed. Alfred hated to see him go, but on the weekends he would watch Arthur sleep and then stay late up into the night with Arthur while he was wide awake. It was a kind of bliss, dysfunctional as it was. Still, the boxes remained unpacked in the living room. Eventually they moved some of them to Toris's old room. Alfred talked about turning it into a temporary study.<p>

Arthur still didn't seem to quite feel at home.

* * *

><p>One day after Alfred had gone off to class, Arthur found he was not tired. He knew he should sleep, but he also knew he wouldn't, so he decided to go through some of his boxes and see if he could find a book to read. He doubted the particular book he was looking for would be in the boxes in the living room, so he went into Toris's old room and looked around.<p>

He hadn't been in that room since they had moved some of the boxes into it. He was surprised to see Alfred's typewriter sitting on the bed. A stack of paper sat next to it. Arthur thumbed through it curiously, but it was all blank. He tried to shrug off his curiosity and knelt down to look through one of his boxes. Something caught his eye: there was an open box under the bed. He pulled it out and peered inside. It was full of typewritten pages.

Arthur pulled out the top page. It was a dialogue of some kind, though it seemed to be in the middle of some story. Perhaps it was part of one Alfred's works-in-progress, he mused, for the characters did not have names. They were denoted only by the letters A and E. He skimmed it.

A  
>I mean, something's clearly bugging you, right? Maybe it's a big deal, maybe it's not, <em>I<em> don't know – but just tell me about it.

E  
>Nonsense. I have enough to worry about as it is.<p>

A  
>Exactly, so just tell me, okay?<p>

He put the paper down and looked through the rest of the box. Much of it was the same – no visible title, no page number, and only the A and E. One page a few sheets down caught his eye.

E  
>You can't help me.<p>

A  
>Of course I can.<p>

E  
>No, you can't.<p>

A  
>Look, I can, so stop being such an ass about it. I get it, okay? I get that you're depressed, and that this is hard for you, and all that, because I've been there. But the harder you make this for us, the harder you make it for yourself.<p>

Arthur stopped reading and sat back on his heels with a sigh. Didn't that sound familiar. He looked at the box full of papers and wondered how long they had been accumulating. He knew better than anyone what it was like to write a diary in a way you hoped was opaque, but was really transparent as glass. If Alfred bothered to read his notebook of poems for what it was . . . He shook his head. Wasn't that what their relationship was about now? Letting the other person in? Maybe he shouldn't let the idea of Alfred seeing his thoughts scare him so much.

He went quickly through the rest of the box, reading little of it; he felt too much like he was intruding. Down at the bottom, though, the scripts began to read more like invented dramas and less like reflections on actual events in Alfred's life. He finally found a page of dialogue that switched out the letters A and E for something more descriptive.

AMERICA  
>I thought you were going to leave.<p>

ENGLAND [snorts]  
>You did?<p>

AMERICA  
>Arthur . . . please. We have something.<p>

ENGLAND  
>Don't be such a damned romantic. [Throws another shirt in the suitcase] Everyone has something. That's why we were together. Unfortunately for you, that isn't why I'm leaving.<p>

AMERICA  
>Were?<p>

ENGLAND  
>[Looks at him]<p>

Arthur traced his finger down the page, lingering on Alfred's slip. His mouth quirked into a smile. So Alfred had codenamed him England. Wasn't that sweet.

* * *

><p>When Alfred came home from school, he found Arthur in the living room with boxes scattered about him. Most of them were open. Books littered the floor. Arthur looked up and smiled. "I thought I'd unpack."<p>

Alfred's heart fluttered with joy. "Really?" he asked, for a moment too happy to notice that Arthur really should have been sleeping.

"Yes," Arthur said. He pointed to some papers on the couch. "I found those, too. I believe they're yours."

Alfred went over to them curiously. He picked one up and immediately turned pink. His eyes darted between Arthur and the paper. "You read this?"

Arthur smiled that same lazy smile. "Yes, I did. I think your dialogue is quite wonderful, actually. It's what you're best at." He went back to sorting out the contents of his box. "It's quite good that you've chosen to go into the movie business. It's so difficult to find nice dialogue on the telly these days." Alfred stared at him for a moment, trying to figure out if Arthur was just toying with him. Arthur glanced up at him. "Oh, don't worry. I know I'm 'England,' as you so flatteringly named me."

Alfred jumped back visibly. "Oh?" he asked nervously.

Arthur reached over and patted his foot. "Calm down, love. I really do find it flattering. A whole country, compared to me? It's quite the compliment. Nearly poetic, in fact. And really, I don't mind in the least that you'd write down things like that." Arthur hesitated. "I know what it's like, trying to work out things like that in your head."

"Oh," said Alfred, and he sat down on the couch. He picked up the papers in a pile and looked through them without really seeing them. When he looked up, he saw Arthur watching him quietly.

"Here," Arthur said. He pulled a notebook out of the pocket of the jacket hung over a chair. He held it out to Alfred. "Read it. Half of it's about you, anyway."

Alfred took the notebook and stared at it. "But . . . these are your poems."

"Yes. I pried into your stuff, so now it's your turn." Arthur went back to busily unpacking. "It's finished, anyway. The notebook. I filled in the last page this morning."

Alfred laughed a little in relief. "You really did. You finished it."

Arthur smiled. "You didn't think I was lying when I said that I'd let you read my poems when they were finished, did you?"

Alfred grinned. "Maybe a little."

Arthur shook his head. "To think I thought our relationship was built on trust."

That hit a little too close to home for both of them, but Alfred leaned over and kissed Arthur anyway. He touched Arthur's chin and Arthur looked up with a slight smile. "Thank you," Alfred said.

"You're welcome," Arthur said, and when Alfred brushed his hair away from his face, he didn't flinch away.

* * *

><p>With Arthur's belongings unpacked, the flat immediately became "theirs." There was no more talk of the future because there didn't need to be. They were both dreamers, but shared dreams like that didn't need to expressed aloud. It was funny, though, how the moments would hit them as they saw little pieces of that unrealized dream being brought to life.<p>

It was seeing Arthur barefooted in the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a shirt, that made Alfred realize Arthur was really his. Perhaps it seemed strange, but Alfred had never really seen Arthur's bare feet before. If he wasn't wearing shoes he was wearing socks, and if he wasn't wearing socks . . . well, then he was naked and Alfred had better things to be paying attention to. To see Arthur standing there with a cup of tea in his hands like that – it was as though Arthur had come home.

"Hey, beautiful," Alfred said. Arthur turned with a slightly surprised quirk of his eyebrows, but Alfred quickly wrapped his arms around him (Arthur barely had enough time to hold the tea out of harm's way) and buried his face in the crook of his neck. He breathed in deeply.

"Good morning," Arthur returned, sounding amused.

"I love you so, so much."

He could feel Arthur's smile as he pressed a little kiss to the top of Alfred's head. "You too, love."

* * *

><p>It took time for Arthur to find a new job, and more time for him to consider trying to publish his poems again. He sent a series of them to several publishing houses, and eventually he got a letter back. Alfred graduated and got a boring job while he sent off his scripts, and eventually he got letters back of his own – most of which were a bit less congratulatory than Arthur's, to his dismay. At each rejection, Arthur would give him a kiss, until finally Alfred landed his dream job. They moved, of course, because their dreams came true in big cities, not in little rundown villages no one had every heard of. But they always moved back, back to the countryside with its green hills, because they could commute, of course, and they both still had a fondness for little stone bridges and gentle streams. After all, that was where their imaginations were at their wildest, and where they had fallen in love.<p> 


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